Bookslut

April 2004

The Sexy Library

Libraries are terribly sexy.

Now that sentence may baffle you for just a second, but trust me, it is true. There is an
innately sexy pulse to libraries. If youíre still operating under the dated stereotypes of
the profession or perhaps locked into the notion that librarians are all liberal
flag-burners who love Michael Moore and hate the government, then you are going to miss my
point. But if you fall somewhere in the middle we can talk about your sexy library. A word
of warning, this is all more of a meditation on libraries than a sexual call to arms. Iím
sure you can look up Dan Savage for that sort of thing.

What is sexy? Weíre not talking about the latest pop tart whose dancing skills and choice
of barely there outfits supersede their ability to sing. Weíre not talking about what
Madison avenue, thereís a dated little turn of phrase for you, defines as being sexy this
year (and for those of you not in the know the spring line is usually thinner, blonder and
surlier than last year). Sexy is simple. Sexy is promise and potential. Itís the walk into
a bedroom with a stranger and all that could happen inside. Sexy is sly and quiet. Sexy is
hushed and possible. Libraries are sexy.

Think about the space of a library for a second. You have some large common areas where
people can mingle and chat. You also have the stacks. The stacks at some college libraries
are rife with sexual activity, but thatís not what Iím getting at. The next time you need
to go to the library, which is of course on a weekly basis, go later in the day before
closing and wander into the depths of the stacks for a while. Thereís this wonderful
feeling of mischief back there. Older and large libraries give off this feeling better than
the shiny new libraries of recent years. Libraries are amazing places where something just
barely legal and permissible seems possible at any moment. Surrounded by high piles of
knowledge you could be doing just about anything.

My favorite experience of this sexy feeling was in my grad school library. While renovating
the old library building many of the books had to be relocated to an annex. The annex had
once served as a chapel and was poorly ventilated and dark as pitch. Now lack of oxygen and
lack of light may go miles towards enhancing a religious experience but it does nothing for
a library. God was I wrong.

I had to go deep into this library one evening during a break in class. Passing through the
swinging doors into the dank heat of the night library I saw a couple of my classmates
scrounging for books. There we were, in hot silence looking for something. I remember two
of my fellows exchanging playful smiles, they were flirting in that obvious and terribly
cute way that only the over-educated can, as they cruised the stacks. It all felt so
desperately sexy and titillating. The musky smell of the books in the humid air, the
looming piles, the chance run-ins that blind corner stacks encourage, add that all together
and there is more than a little bit of a current running through the library.

Perhaps itís the forced formality of a library. The pressure based both on rules and
inherent public space formality, to keep quiet and focused. Like a held in giggle or a
repressed dirty joke libraries are just brimming with this undercurrent of the impossible
possible sexual urge and action. The next time someone rolls their eyes at library funding
or makes some silly remark about the hair bun and sensible shoes set think of your warm
dark library and see if you can hold it all in too.